


The Stairs are Easier than the Rope, Whether You're Going Up or Down

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [11]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whole thing just scared me," Loki tells her, "because I- I like to pretend sometimes that I’ve moved beyond it, that I’m not an addict and I’ll simply never want it again.  I don’t like being reminded that it’s <i>right the fuck there all the time</i> and that I’ll really never be free.”</p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>Westward into the Sunset... or to Fall Off the Ends of the Earth</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1436797/chapters/3021658">Push</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are ways around even the worst obstacles.

"You're looking surprisingly cheerful this morning," Leah tells him out by the front the desk. "Should I be worried?"

Loki smiles, and it's all real; he's still feeling _good_ from last night, and pleased that he and Thor hadn't _had words about it_ this morning. Very good, actually, and quite pleased. "Not at all," he says, raking his hair out of his face with both hands.

It isn't until a few seconds after her eyebrows shoot up, practically disappearing into her dark hair, that he follows the direction she's looking and laughs. "Bad choice of shirts, I guess," he offers, feeling his face flush. He tugs the loose hem back down to close the gap above his jeans, to hide the bruises and _unmistakable bite marks_ scattered across his abdomen. "And before you ask,” he says, quickly, “yes, there's a story there and, no, I'm not sharing it out here in the fucking lobby." He wipes his mouth, carefully holding his shirt in place with the other hand.

And then he snickers. Because it’s all just too funny. That, and he’s nervous.

"It's a _good_ story, though," she asks, looking worried. "I don't need to call anyone?"

"No no," he assures her. "It's fine. Better than fine. Honest." He smiles again, bright and open. "I'll tell you later."

"Yes," she says, "you will."

~

"Seriously," he insists, red-faced again and laughing. "Best sex I've had in ages. And the timing was so perfect. _Just_ what I needed."

"And you told Thor that? Afterwards, I mean?" She looks at him expectantly, pen hovering just above her pad.

Loki stops to really think about what transpired. It’s hard to remember some of the details, especially once they’d finally dragged themselves off to bed and he was really floating. Most of what he _does_ remember, too, involves back rubs. And purring. And then waking in the night enveloped in his brother’s big arms. "Not in so many words," he admits, "no. But it would have been hard - and difficult -," he tries to joke, even though kidding around never seems to get him out of trouble when it comes to her, "for him to overlook my- my enthusiasm."

Except he really does know better. Thor is very new to this sort of thing and, regardless of how the sex itself had gone, probably wouldn't have recognized the absence of any discernible sub-drop on Loki's part if it’d bitten him in the ass. No pun intended. He sighs. "Scratch what I just told you. You're right. Don't even bother saying it."

It's Leah's turn to laugh. "Oh, how handy it would be if all my clients were self-counseling.” She taps the back end of her pen on her thigh. “This really is something the two of you need to talk about, though," she reminds him.

"I know." He does. This is by no means his first rodeo. "I just- I don't want to blow it."

“Oh?” She makes a quick note. "How so?"

Loki shrugs. "The weirdest things freak Thor out, sometimes. In the cold light of morning I'm not at all sure how _I loved the shit out of it when you bit me all over and then fucked me half the length of the kitchen floor_ would fly." He laughs at himself. “And not just because I’m being horribly crass about it, either; _that_ , after a lifetime of dealing with me and my so-called filthy little mouth, he’s more than used to hearing.”

~

“Beyond the sex,” Leah asks, after they’re more or less done dissecting last night’s encounter, “how did you do with what happened at group yesterday?”

He tries to laugh again; this time, it feels and sounds forced. “Not as well as I did with the fucking, for sure.” He takes a deep breath, then sighs loudly. “Not well by any standard, really. I was so, so upset.”

“Did you call your coach,” Leah asks. Her voice is very neutral.

“No,” he says. “I didn’t want to talk to him. I only wanted to- to be with Thor.” That part, he does remember, and clearly… he was rattled and frantic and not at all in the mood for buzzwords and hard questions and _being talked down._ “Nothing against JT,” he adds, because he doesn’t want to get anyone in trouble. “He’s awesome. I just wasn’t in the mood to talk shop.”

She purses her lips. “I’m not sure I have a problem with that, actually,” she tells him, “as long as you have a Plan B that keeps you clean and doesn’t result in self-harming.”

Loki tugs his shirt down, a little self-conscious, and she laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m not counting that. Not when you can grin about it the way you did earlier.”

He buries his suddenly-burning face in his hands.

~

“Did you find yourself wanting to use,” Leah asks when they’ve finally managed to get themselves back on track. “Last night, I mean.”

Loki shakes his head. “No. Not this time. The whole thing just scared me, because I- I like to pretend sometimes that I’ve moved beyond it, that I’m not an addict and I’ll simply never want it again.” He rotates his right forearm and studies the long, thin scar running along the inside of his wrist. “I don’t like being reminded that it’s _right the fuck there all the time_ and that I’ll really never be free.”

“You may not feel this way yourself,” she tells him, “But that’s actually a very normal, healthy viewpoint.”

He smirks. “How not like me.”

~

“And even after all that – after Odin smugly pointed out that _no son of his could be a goddamned faggot_ – I walked away.” Thor shakes his head. “I somehow didn’t punch him. I think it gave me a hernia.”

Loki snorts. “Hopefully nowhere it matters.”

~

Sif, meanwhile, is failing spectacularly at multi-tasking.

"You handled that amazingly well," she tells his brother, being nauseatingly supportive – this is _Thor_ , here; the last thing he needs is a pat on the ego - while simultaneously not paying anywhere near enough attention to the way the cheesy center of her mozzarella stick dangles well within Loki’s reach. “Seriously. I’m most impressed.”

_Oh, gag._

Loki has spent the entire meal, if you can even call this collection of junk food supper, flopped on the sofa with his head in Sif’s lap. He takes advantage of location and reaches up – with his pointy, wet tongue, not his hands – and snags her unattended cheese. “Mmm,” he hums, making a dramatic show of slurping and chewing. “Tasty.”

"Bastard," she huffs, prying his mouth open like he’s a dog and cramming the rest of the stick inside. Loki licks her hand. “You little cocksucker,” she snarls, laughing. She slaps him playfully; he licks her wrist instead.

"Enough, you two," Thor says, sounding very, very stern, and then ruins the whole _school principal_ effect by laughing too.

Loki fights to swallow the rest of the cheese without dying. "Aww, bruddy-wuddy's jealous," he finally chokes out, propping himself up on his elbows - mostly done chewing - to smear a sloppy kiss on Sif’s cheekbone. "Ouch,” he complains afterwards as she shoves him off the sofa. “Women these days; they just don't value a little old fashioned chivalry."

She reaches out but Loki ducks her, using Thor as a human shield. "Save me from the evil wench, brother," he pleads, laughing so hard now that his eyes are watering.

Sif whips a mozzarella stick right at him.

She has a good arm, and Loki’s way too busy laughing to really dodge. Thor catches it in mid-air and swings around, one end shoved in his own mouth, to offer the other end to Loki.

There’s no turning _that_ down; not the lovely breaded, fried cheese and not Thor’s hot, slippery mouth at the far end of it.

~

One thing leads to another. Before long they’re making out for real, cheese and all, oil and marinara sauce and greasy hands everywhere.

It should probably be disgusting.

It isn’t. Who knew?

~

About the time Loki forgets she’s there Sif whistles. It’s loud enough to hurt his ears. “Get a room, you two,” she teases.

Thor drags a warm, slick thumb across Loki’s mouth. It’s _hard_ to stop, but he knows they ought to. He grins at his brother. “She’s right, you know,” he says, halfway between serious and mocking. “You were amazing. But don’t get me wrong; you’re still an asshole.”

They all laugh.

“Let’s put that mouth of yours to proper use,” Thor retorts. He dives in and kisses Loki again, hard, until they’re both gasping.

“Okay, I can take a hint.” Sif gets to her feet, wiping her hands on a paper napkin. “And boys? Try not to get sauce on the furniture.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting what you want isn't always as simple or as pleasant as it sounds.

In the abstract, as nothing but a fantastic idea, it had sounded most enticing. Now that it’s left ideahood behind and is well on its way to becoming a reality, though, it's-… well, whatever it is, Loki is fucking terrified.

~

They'd driven up last night, late – it was a group night, so they hadn't even gotten underway until close to 9:00 PM - and arrived at their hotel a little before 3:00 in the morning. Dinner had been junky rest stop fast food, and they'd both been too worn out to goof around with it; they'd hunched over their trays and wrappers, shoveling it all down in not particularly companionable silence, then taken a quick pee break and gotten right back on the road.

Loki'd coasted along in a semi-doze after that, not in any shape to make conversation but still a little too wired to sleep. Mostly he'd just watched his brother in the flash-flash-flash of the highway streetlights... the little frown, the way a muscle in Thor’s jaw had twitched over and over, endlessly.

At the hotel - a swank place; they're still Odinsons, after all, and even in the middle of the night the disgustingly perfect man at the desk had treated them like fucking royalty - at last, they'd had perfunctory vanilla sex on the high-threadcount linens and then rolled over without further ado and called it a night.

Well, Thor had.

For the next two hours Loki’d lain quietly on his back listening to his brother, legs spread and arms flung wide, snoring. Listening, yes, and secretly wishing - for the first time in a long time - that he was down at the shiny (and, sure, closed by then... but it had just been wishing, after all) bar bumming a cigarette.

And a scotch.

On the lap of someone who wasn’t _any relation_.

But then he'd started violently, jerking himself awake only to realize he'd been sleeping after all.

Afterwards he’d felt guilty and _bad;_ what little was left of the night’s rest had come even less easily.

~

Consequently this morning, more han a little grey-skinned and puffy-eyed on just a couple of hours of sleep, Loki is scared and bitchy and wishing he was anywhere but here. Not to mention feeling like absolute ass.

He yawns quietly and turns away from the big mirror over the sofa, scratching his neck with one hand. If he stands up on tiptoe, calf muscles straining, he can even see the lake from the hotel window. The water is blue-grey and sparkling, framed neatly by some of the bigger buildings that constitute the city skyline.

Any other time, it would be pretty. Today, he just wants to throw himself in it and drown.

Not that he can manage that from here.

Loki pads back into the bedroom - they have a suite, of course, with soft plushy rugs and antique furniture; all but the bed, which is far too big to be authentic despite being the corresponding style, and the poshy-posh reproduction bathroom fixtures - and stands quietly, watching Thor dream.

His brother's _job interview_ isn't until mid-afternoon. Even if the lazy oaf sleeps until noon (which he won't; he's responsible, unlike yours-worthless-truly, and they're supposed to pay a visit to what will probably all too soon be the new day treatment center while they're in town), the two of them will still have time to catch lunch and do a little sightseeing.

It should be appealing. Well, except for the day center part.

It isn't, not at all. He's sad and afraid and he just wants to go home.

~

"I ordered us room service," Thor says, yawning sleepily, after the doorbell (who has a fucking doorbell in a hotel anyway?) startles him awake. "I knew we might want to sleep in."

The sharply-dressed waiter sets everything out on the heavy wooden table in the center of the living room. It’s a spread right out of a magazine; airy waffles and eggs benedict and oodles of fresh fruit. Loki goes into the whole thing fully intending to pass - what fucking right does his brother have to order for him without even doing him the courtesy of asking first? - but everything smells mouthwateringly delicious and Thor doesn't push and give him anything to fight against.

Without that, he can’t even dig his own heels in properly anymore.

Resistance proves futile. Not more than five minutes pass before Loki has a heaping helping of breakfast fare, lots of guilt, a good dose of self-loathing (way to stick to your principles, loser), and hot tears stinging his eyes. "I'm fucking exhausted," he snaps when his brother - solicitously; disgustingly solicitously - asks what's wrong. "Not all of us slept, you know."

Thor looks genuinely sad. "If you need to lie back down, I can call them," he says. "We can always come out another time, if you're not up to it. You can stay here while I’m interviewing, even."

It's everything Loki wants. Exactly. And it simply couldn’t have been more sweetly offered. Which is why he does the idiotic, stubborn, self-defeating thing: "Fuck that shit. We're here, brother. Just get it over with."

~

He's not particularly snippy towards the day center staff, partly (barely) because he doesn't want to start off on the wrong foot and partly (nearly entirely) because he's too busy hiding, quaking in childish terror, behind big, brave _Thor_ to manage anything anywhere near that difficult.

And it’s saying something when being an asshole is _too much to manage_.

Something unfortunate, really.

~

The doors swing silently open into a classy, stylish lobby. “We’re happy to have you,” the manager tells him, smiling; she’s come out in person to meet them, rather than sending a lackey. A _staffer_. This is clearly a place used to treating its private-pay customers right. Alumni become donors and all that.

As they tour the nicely-lit, paneled halls she keeps up a running commentary. “We’ve followed up with both your residential program and your current day treatment team,” she assures Loki, “and we’re confident we can help you continue to meet your goals.” She gestures, letting them walk past her into the art studio, which is frankly gorgeous; this is a nice, nice place, not an inner-city dump like he’s been attending. “To thrive, even. That’s our objective, for each and everyone one of our clients.”

Past Thor’s muscled shoulder, Loki – who is barely half-listening to start with - spots a pottery wheel in the corner.

Everything here is perfect.

He’s so, so frightened.

It doesn’t make sense, of course. Nothing inside his fucking skull _ever_ makes sense.

“I hear you’re getting quite good with clay,” she says, cutting into his cheerless reverie, “so I hope you’ll put this place to good use. It’s about time we had a new potter.”

Loki makes himself nod. “I’m looking forward to that,” he says carefully, hoping his voice only sounds oddly brittle to his own ears. “It always makes such a nice break from DBT.” How the fucking fuck has it all come to this?

“Ohh, right,” she exclaims, checking her Rolex. “I know the two of you have only a few more minutes to spare, but I did want to give you a quick look at one of our classes.”

~

It looks and sounds like- like DBT. Except for how the druggies and nutjobs here are, well, _people facing up to their challenges._ Everyone is so clean and neat.

Loki feels like such a freak, with his black nails and his baggy shirt and his scars and his- _Stop,_ he orders himself. _Just stop. No one comes to day treatment for the fucking fun of it. No doubt they all have their own problems._ He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly and quietly, then takes another. “Thanks,” he says, taking a last look around. “This looks fine. I’ll- I’ll see you soon.”

“Good luck with your move, Loki,” she calls to them as they’re walking out. “Just give us a call if you need anything.”

~

“Shit, Thor,” Loki says once they’re safely around the corner. “How fucking much are you paying to stash me away there?”

His brother grins. “Not one single penny more than youi’re worth, baby.” Thor stops to look a little more closely at Loki’s face. “Wait, what’s wrong? Didn’t you like it?”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Loki offers, once again, scuffing the toe of his boot in the dirt. “It’s just- Country Club Crazy.” He makes himself laugh a little, because it’s what he would be doing if he wasn’t so busy bouncing off the walls inside his own head.

Thor laughs too; he looks relieved.

Loki secretly wants to punch him. He doesn’t, of course, but he wants to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old habits can be really, really hard to break.
> 
> One of which, on both sides, is missing the point entirely.

"Stay right here," Thor orders, impressively grown-up-looking in his charcoal interview suit and tastefully colorful tie. "Right here. I mean it. I should be back in about an hour."

"Mm," Loki hums, which isn't really yes or no. It's not an uncomfortable bench, and the view isn't uninteresting, but he's kind of in the mood to do a little exploring. He doesn't share that particular opinion, though; it’s bound to be unpopular and Thor doesn't need to go into a job interview tense and angry. "Good luck," he says instead. "Make them love you."

~

He checks his phone as his brother disappears into the building. Even if he allows a few minutes for someone to come fetch Thor and drag his brother off into the bowels of the building, Loki should still have a good 45 minutes to poke around before anyone misses him. It's not that he plans to go far, or to get himself into mischief; on the contrary, he's simply done his homework. He’s found both a shop selling homemade candy and a pet store within a two-block radius. Each has gotten good reviews and sounds well worth checking out. That, and Loki wants to read a few restaurant menus and perhaps get a soda.

For now, though - the building's street-level windows are lightly mirrored, and he can't see what might be taking place inside - he is content just to sit here in the shade and people-watch.

~

It turns out there aren't really enough people to make it interesting, not mid-afternoon on a Friday, but there are plenty of pigeons. They'll do.

When what has to be sufficient time has passed (surely they don't interview for mid-to-upper-level positions in the lobby), Loki hauls himself to his feet - he's keenly feeling his short fucking night just now - and stretches. He doesn't bother covering a yawn.

The pigeons don't seem to mind.

~

"If you like sponge candy, you simply _must_ try a bit of this," the good-natured older woman – who, now that he thinks about it, reminds Loki just a hair too much of Frigga for comfort - behind the candy store counter gushes. She stretches to hold a small tray of bite-sized sponge candy chunks, orangey spun-sugar cores showing here and there where the dark chocolate had been cut away, out for him to sample.

Loki takes what seems like a reasonable portion, delicately, politely careful not to touch any of the other pieces. He pops it in his mouth and doesn't have to fake his reaction; the thing is heavenly. "Oh, this is _wonderful_ ," he tells her. The last bits melt away to nothing on his tongue. When she offers him another, he doesn't hesitate at all.

~

It turns out she owns the shop. It's a family business; her beaming niece and nephew emerge from the kitchen when summoned, dusty with confectioners' sugar and spattered with chocolate, to say their shyly cheerful hellos. It’s a nice place, full of nice people and lovely sweets. Loki _likes_ it.

"We're moving here in a few weeks," he offers, "my partner and I." He watches the owner’s face closely; she doesn't react, except to smile broadly when he adds "and you can bet you'll be seeing far too much of me." It's the first time Loki has shared any of _their news_ with a random stranger; it feels downright frightening to admit they are moving… not to mention weird(er) when he finally realizes he’s not having to hide here.

~

They chat a while longer, until another patron pushes the door open. "What do I owe you," Loki asks, as – over the course of what’s been close to half an hour now; he’s going to have to be a little more time-conscious at the pet store, and may have to forego his soda entirely - he has managed to sample his way nearly to the point of candy poisoning.

"Don't be silly," the owner tells him, smiling as she waves him off. "Just be sure to come see us again sometime. And good luck with your move," she calls after him as he makes his way back outside.

~

The pet store is nice as well. It's a little place, packed with every toy and treat under the sun (or moon) and delightfully free of cages of sad-looking puppies or kittens. The shop does sell small rodents, just a few to each neat, clean tank, and a chatty parrot grips a well-worn perch overlooking the front counter.

Claire (according to her cockeyed name tag), the lone employee working just now, is heavily pierced and tattooed. Loki observes her for some time as he pokes his way among the merchandize, makes note of her padlocked collar, and takes a chance; in return, he leaves with the hastily-scribbled contact information for what Claire enthusiastically describes as _THE BEST_ BDSM toy shop ever.

When he's back out on the sidewalk, Loki checks the address on his phone. It's not nearby, but it _is_ conveniently close to what will soon be their new apartment. Handy.

~

He gets back to his assigned seat with a few minutes to spare, feeling both pleased with himself and considerably more cheerful.

Loki’s good cheer wears increasingly thin, though, as _about an hour_ stretches to an hour and a half and then more. Ultimately it's the sun that does it - he's wearing dark clothes, a bit stupidly (given the benefit of hindsight), and before his legs are even completely out of the shade he's already fucking broiling.

There's another bench most of the way down the block, in front of an interesting little bistro. At an hour and 50 minutes, he bails to that one instead.

~

It's been two hours and eighteen minutes, and oh yes is he ever counting, by the time Loki finally spots Thor leaving the building. The way his brother reacts upon spotting the empty bench - the panicked hair-raking, the stomping about, the frantic _LOKI!!_ plainly audible all the way down the block over the bustle of the bistro staff setting their sidewalk seating for the upcoming dinner hour – is what will doubtless make the inevitable shitshow that follows _almost_ worth it.

~

“Thor,” Loki exclaims, false-brightly, standing smoothly as his seething brother stomps up to him. “How did it go?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Loki,” Thor spits. “Why are you over here?”

Loki shrugs. “I was waiting for you,” he says, leaving off the _duh_. And then, because his brother’s eyes are practically bugging out… and there are times when it’s simply best to just rip off the proverbial band-aid and get whatever’s coming over with, he adds: “Is there a problem?”

“I _TOLD_ you to stay put,” Thor growls, grabbing Loki by the upper arm a little too tightly. “Never mind.” His strong, blunt fingers dig in, just to the edge of _painful_. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.” And with that he starts walking, practically dragging Loki along with him.

“I was hot,” Loki complains, struggling to keep up with his brother. He’s done (faking) playing nice. “If you’d taken half a goddamned moment to pay attention, rather than flipping out the way you did, you would’ve undoubtedly noticed that bench is now baking in the sun. And you know how much,” he points out as they stumble along faster and faster, “I hate baking in the sun.”

“And you couldn’t fucking text,” Thor asks angrily. “It was so hot your thumbs stopped working?” He halts abruptly, giving Loki’s arm a sharp yank in the process.

“No, you big oaf. Oww,” Loki yelps. “Let go. I’m not going anywhere. Jesus!” This is getting ridiculous; he’s royally pissed now too. He rubs his arm where Thor’s fingers had dug into it. “You were in a job interview, stupid,” he huffs, because _really?_ “I know how important this is to you. To us. I wasn’t going to text you in the middle of your big chance and run the risk of wrecking it for you.” Loki takes a deep breath. “And fuck, Thor, I was _one bench down._ One. Bench.” He glares at his brother. “I guess I put a little too much faith in your ability to turn that hunk of rock you call a head left and right.”

After a long, long pause, during which they face off with hands balled into fists and teeth clenched, Thor finally caves. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m a little stressed-out right now.” He looks guilty in the wake of his little tantrum, more embarrassed than angry, but Loki isn’t ready to be done with being pissed quite yet. Not even when his brother adds: “I just- I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.”

The pity play isn’t going to work. Not this time. “Oh, please,” Loki tells Thor. “You’d do exactly what you always do: You’d find a way to fix it.”

Which doesn’t fly quite the way Loki’d intended, actually. His brother frowns, expression a little too canny. “So, was the whole thing about the arm an act,” Thor asks, not looking nearly as contrite as he had been.

It was, and it wasn’t. Loki isn’t interested in discussing the finer points of his reaction presently. “Yes. Well, and no. It did hurt. It still does. But I was mainly just feeling sorry for myself,” he tells his brother, because it’s (not entirely untrue, and also) what he’s supposed to say. “I’m a little stressed out these days too,” he points out, what should be _unnecessarily_.

And maybe it is. Thor sighs and takes him by the hand, gently this time. “I know you are, baby.”

~

The short jaunt back to their hotel is- strained. Thor is clearly dead-set on pretending things are fine, which pretty much guarantees they’re anything but. And even when he does finally admit they aren’t quite so fine after all, in Thor World (which is nothing like reality) it’s obviously about the _bit with the arm._

Which isn’t the real issue at all.

Yes, Loki _might_ have a bruise tomorrow. Even that much is doubtful, though. It certainly wasn't horribly painful at the time, and he can barely feel it now. No, what’s upsetting is this: he’d taken _maybe_ a quarter of an inch and – sure enough - Thor reacted like he'd taken five goddamned miles.

~

Dinner, at a sidewalk café two doors down from the hotel, is even more strained. Ultimately Thor’s over-solicitousness is simply more than Loki can stand. On the third “are you _sure_ you’re okay, brother,” he upends his water into Thor’s lap and stands, chair scraping loudly against the concrete.

“If you _actually_ cared you’d stop this shit,” he spits back, loudly enough that some of the other patrons shift uncomfortably. “Sorry,” he says, to them, and then “I’m not hungry. I’ll see you back at the room,” to his brother. Before Thor can reply he turns and marches away.

~

It isn’t until Loki gets all the way up to their floor, about three doors from their own, that he realizes he hasn’t got a keycard.

~

When Thor makes it up to the room – maybe half an hour later, which Loki actually considers a move in the right direction – and finds him sitting cross-legged in front of the door, his brother _laughs_. It’s not over, not by a long shot, but for now the situation has lost the worst of its sting; Loki laughs too.

“I’m an idiot,” he tells Thor, still laughing.

“Never,” his brother assures him. “Plus, as both you and I know all too well, grand exits are seldom based in logic.”

“Ain’t _that_ the truth,” Loki agrees, scooting out of the way before scrambling to his feet. He frowns. “Don’t think this gets you out of the doghouse, though,” he warns, “because it doesn’t.”

Thor pulls him into a tight hug. “I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re here.” He snuggles closer, burying his face in Loki’s hair. “I love you.”

_Be that as it may, you just don’t trust me,_ Loki tells his brother, in the privacy of his own head.

His outside voice says- well, nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leah doesn't let Loki off the hook easily.

“So,” Leah asks him, “what did you think? Does it seem like a good fit for you, at least from what you could see initially?”

Loki reflects on the attentive staff, the fancy surroundings, the neat and orderly clients. The gorgeous art studio. The pottery wheel. “I expect I could adjust,” he says carefully, watching his own fingers picking frantically at the hem of his t-shirt as though they’re acting under their own volition. “Will adjust, I mean,” he corrects himself smoothly, purposefully sounding more confident than he feels. “It’s just not quite what I’m used to.” 

Actually, it kind of _is_ what he’s used to; this particular soon-to-be-new center shares many characteristics with exactly the sorts of places and pastimes he typically tries to avoid.

Loki prefers to pretend he’s not _from privilege_ , any time he can get away with it. The whole idea just doesn’t gel with his concept of himself as a homeless addict, and he’s not even sure – despite the underlying truth; it’s that very _privilege_ that allows the whole situation to exist at all – how well it meshes with his current role as Thor’s- well, whatever he is. That, and he doesn’t like to think about how beholden he is to Odin. “It’s awfully- posh.”

He sneaks a peek at Leah’s face, checking to see if she’s judging him. Her expression, though, is much the same as it was a few moments ago; cautiously hopeful, with just a touch more frown than she’d been wearing before he’d started down this particular line of reasoning. “It’s a lot nicer than this place, for sure,” she agrees, “but it’s really the people that matter. How did you feel about the people?”

“‘They were fine,” he says, meaning the staff. He didn’t really meet any of the clients. “Nice enough. They’d certainly done their homework about me.”

Leah nods. “They have a really strong program there. Their success rates are very good, more comparable to your most recent inpatient treatment facility.”

Loki raises his eyebrows. Reading between the lines, that says-.

“We’re a government-funded, urban program here,” she finishes for him, reading his face (if not his mind). “Some of our clients are at such a disadvantage, there’s ultimately not nearly enough we can do to help them.”

“And me?” He makes a face at her, preparing to laugh it all off if her response hurts too much.

“You’re a very bright man,” Leah tells him. “And you have a lot of resources at your disposal, like it or not.” She smiles at his expression. “I think your chances are- well, a lot better than _you_ think they are.”

He’s never been great with praise. Still isn’t. “And what did they think of _me_ ,” he asks, mostly to change the subject.

She doesn’t bother pretending they haven’t all talked. “They’re excited to have you,” she says. “I know you don’t always believe it, but everyone who’s worked with you has been.”

Loki snorts. “Of course. I’m a challenge. You all went into this business to tackle the challenges.”

Leah gives him _the look;_ he flashes her a toothy grin. “I know you were just there a couple of days,” she says, rather than commenting further, “and only this once so far, but what did you think of the community itself?”

That’s an easier question, really. It’s a nice place, from what he can tell, despite the crap he’d given Thor about it. “I like it, actually,” he tells her. “I didn’t think I would, but I do. And it’s nice to- to be somewhere where I could be anyone.” He smiles for real this time; this part is genuinely exciting. “When I walk into a store I’m just a customer. I’m not the DA’s prodigal son, I’m not Thor’s baby brother, I’m not Scott’s possession or Malekith’s employee or the guy some cop arrested two years and a half dozen raids ago.”

Everyone knows it: As big as this city is, far, far too many people know one another. It’s just a small town on steroids; there’s no _six degrees of separation_ whatsoever. It’s more like two. “To these people I’m just a guy with an interest and a wallet. It’s refreshing.”

He half expects her to hassle him about his response, to ask how he managed to escape Thor’s clutches anywhere near long enough to discover that sort of thing, but she doesn’t. All she says is “I can see how that would be a nice change. It’s hard to be known everywhere, especially when you’re trying to make major life changes.”

Then again, Leah doesn’t know Thor like he knows Thor; Loki takes great pains to keep it that way. It may not be the best approach, but he’s learned the hard way that too much open honesty just gets his ass chewed.

“And how did Thor’s job interview go,” Leah asks pleasantly. She doesn’t look like she just lit a stick of dynamite; she did, though.

“Um, I never asked,” he says, stupidly, caught by surprise and at a loss as to how to play it. It’s a brief lapse, but a critical one, and he knows he’s blown.

Sure enough, her eyes narrow. “And he didn’t tell you? That doesn’t sound like him, at least from what you’ve shared with me.”

Loki sighs. She’s right; it doesn’t. He’s stepped in the shit, yet again. Seriously, he spends half his life wiping his mental shoes. “He was distracted,” Loki tries, knowing even as he says it that - as responses go - this one is both lame and worthless.

She picks up her pen. Leah doesn’t generate nearly the volume of notes these days she made back at the very beginning; now, when she does find something noteworthy, he’s come to regard it as a Bad Sign. When he makes himself look at her, sure enough, her face is clouded with worry. “Did something happen?”

It’s a reasonable question. The whole purpose of this trip, really – the visit to day treatment was actually more of a courtesy, because it’s not like the whole thing’s off if _Loki is not thrilled with his treatment options_ \- was Thor’s Big Interview. Of course she thinks it’s weird that he hasn’t got a decent answer. Loki mentally curses himself – again - for making such an amateurish slip-up. “We were tired,” he explains, “and he was annoyed with me about something. It just didn’t come up.”

“It _didn’t come up_ ,” she repeats, “even though you were there overnight afterwards and then spent, what, six or seven hours in the car together?”

“Pretty much,” Loki tells her, looking once again at his hands. All this therapy has somehow robbed him of the ability to lie in cold blood while still making convincing eye contact. It’s quite limiting. He sighs, again. “Okay, you’re right, he was more than annoyed. And, afterwards, so was I.” The return trip had been one long exercise in cold war tactics. He swallows against the frustration that’s bubbling back up with shocking force. “In fact, I still am.”

Loki expects – and has armed himself against – the predictable “Do you want to talk about it?” He doesn’t.

He’s _not_ ready, though, for what Leah does instead, which is to ask him “what happened?” in the softest, most caring tone of voice possible.

Out of absolutely fucking nowhere he starts fucking crying. Jesus fuck.

“I really need to get my sprinkler system serviced,” he tries to joke, wiping furiously at his face. “It was nothing. Nothing-nothing. I didn’t wait where he wanted me to wait, he blew up at me, I got pissed right back at him, rinse, repeat. See? Nothing.” He has himself back under control. Mostly. He snuffles a little, quietly, bravely trying to act like he’s just plain old breathing.

Leah, of course, isn’t fooled. She offers him a tissue. He blows, dutifully. “Humor me,” she tells him, “and – if Thor doesn’t mention it himself – bring all this _nothing_ up in your next joint session. It never hurts,” she reminds him, and not for the first time, “to get input from a neutral third party.”

She’s right. She is. There’s no point in arguing. Loki nods.

“Thank you,” Leah says, and then smiles. “So, what was your favorite part?”

That might actually be the information he got from Claire, but it’s a close, close contest (and he doesn’t want to go there just now, not with so many cracks in his armor) so he opts instead to (take the easy out and) go with the candy. “It was terrific,” he tells her happily, putting the rest of the bullshit firmly and decisively behind him. “You have to try it. I’ll send you some.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small victories are won, but then tempers are seriously lost.

A day or two after he'd discussed it with Leah, the whole topic feels _done_. Loki hasn't thought about it at all, except in passing. Thor hasn't mentioned it. Nothing. Done. 

The two of them do have joint tomorrow and he'll have to bring it up there - otherwise, when Leah grills him about it on Friday, he'll have nothing to tell her (and having nothing to tell her invariably brings on one of those thoroughly unpleasant conversations about The Avoidance Of Difficult Things And How That, Best Possible Case, Solves Nothing) - but he doesn't see anything left to discuss, really.

They were dicks, they apologized. It’s over. Done.

Next time he'll just have to be more careful.

~

"So? How was it?" Sif sits next to him on the sofa and jiggles one foot, too excited to actually sit still. "Did you looooove the apartment building?"

He did, actually. He hadn’t thought they could do better than this place but is happy to find himself wrong for once. "The building looks perfect," he tells her, returning her grin. "The city was- a lot more pleasant than I expected," he admits. "I think it will be a good change."

"Ohthankgod," she breathes, all in a rush. "You have _no_ idea how afraid I've been that you would hate it."

_You and me both_ , Loki thinks, but there’s no point in being that way; it really doesn't seem like a bad place overall. “No,” he says, a little shamefacedly – he feels bad for having worried her and worse because her concerns could just as easily have been justified – “it’s fine. I think it will be fine.”

~

They talk for a little while about the sights, just killing time – once Thor gets home they’re making fish tacos, but he’s running later than anyone expected; Sif and Loki have already gotten the lettuce, tomato, and onion chopped, the cheese shredded, the seasonings measured, and the fish all set to go – the lake, the fun café (where Loki carefully doesn’t admit to having sulked and bratted his way through their entire lunch; that’s over and done, too), the interesting architecture.

She nicely doesn’t ask about the day treatment facility; in the end, Loki just says “we went by the center; it was swank,” so he doesn’t come off looking like he’s pretending his life is anything but what it is. Or something like that. Maybe it’s just that he owes her.

~

"Hey," Loki asks Sif on a whim, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially even though Thor still hasn’t made it home. "Can you keep a secret? Oh no no, it's nothing bad," he adds when she backs off a little to stare at him, face abruptly worried. "And it’s nothing big. It’s just a silly little thing that needs to stay between us, okay? Promise?"

Sif nods. "Of course." She gestures _go on,_ a little impatiently. “Well?”

"I found _the best_ candy shop ever. Sponge candy to die for. In a good way," he corrects himself, wincing a little at his own poor word choice. "Seriously,” he hurries on, “just amazing. It's right here," he points out, scooting closer again to show her the map on his phone. "The woman who owns it is _so nice_ , too. I swear, you will love everything about it."

Sif grins at his enthusiasm – they’ve always been _partners in chocolate_ \- but then a flicker of something else briefly darkens her expression. "So, that's a secret why exactly?"

Loki rolls his eyes. "I wasn't supposed to be wandering about unsupervised," he explains. "While Thor was in the interview, I mean."

"Seriously, Loki?" She huffs. "I know you two have a history but there's cautious and then there's paranoid."

"No, this was justified," he complains. "I moved one bench over and he ripped me a new asshole. I was _just trying to get out of the sun._ " He feels whiny. He's over this. They're over this.

Sif, though, isn't.

"For real?" Her eyebrows shoot up. "Why?!"

Thinking about it isn't helping; the whole business is starting to grate again. In retrospect he probably shouldn’t even have brought it up. "He was worried. I _could have been dead_ ," he tells her, air-quoting. "Basically, I'm untrustworthy."

Sif groans. "He didn't even try calling your cell?"

"No." Loki smirks; this part actually _was_ funny. "Get this: He came out on the sidewalk and started screaming for me. Like I was a lost fucking toddler."

"Oh, jesus."

"And then he grabbed me and dragged me back to the hotel. Literally." He shoves up his sleeve and shows her the tiny bruises. "It doesn't look like much," he admits, shrugging, "but still."

She lets out a wordless growl. He pats her knee.

"No," she exclaims, as though he'd tried to excuse Thor’s actions. "It’s _not_ okay. Look, I love you guys – you, _and_ Thor - and I did my best to stand by him when you were really unstable, but you’re doing so much better now and- and I thought he'd stopped that crap."

Loki nods. "He has, as long as I _act my-_ shhh," he hisses as his brother's key rattles in the deadbolt and then the knob.

The door swings open. "Hey, kiddies," Thor greets them, cheerfully.

Loki shoots Sif a wink - on the side where his brother can’t see - and a knowing little smile.

~

As he lies exhaustedly sleepless later, Thor long since lost to dreamland, Loki has to admit that _maybe the whole topic is not quite so done after all._

~

Which could be why it all goes straight in the shitter.

~

It probably doesn’t help that – floodgates inadvertently cracked open – Loki has stewed about the whole thing all day. He’s not in the mood to give two shits about _the reasons behind things_ now, though. Especially not when the therapist asks him to hold his comments until later _for the umpteenth fucking time._

"When- when I came out of my interview and Loki wasn't there-," Thor stammers. He’s an idiot, and Loki just can’t stand it anymore.

"I _was_ th-," he corrects, cutting himself off with an angry snarl as the therapist shushes him yet again.

"... and Loki wasn't there," Thor continues, giving Loki a nasty look, "I lost it." Well, _that_ much is true, anyway. For all the fat lot of difference it makes.

"Can you tell me what you thought might have happened," the therapist asks his brother, signaling _wait your turn_ even though Loki hasn’t even tried to say a single fucking thing this time. Not one word.

"I thought he had taken off on me." Thor looks at the floor.

"How long would you say your interview took," the therapist asks.

"Two hours, probably,” Thor says, “from when I first reported to reception until I walked back outside."

"And in those two hours,” the therapist asks, “is it possible Loki needed to use the restroom or felt thirsty or just got tired of sitting and wanted to walk around?"

_You think?_ For the first time since they started talking Loki _doesn’t_ want to strangle the guy. Not right this second, anyway.

Thor shrugs, and Loki wants very much to strangle _him_ instead. "I asked him to stay put,” Thor explains, like it’s the dumbest question in the known universe.

"Do you remember what you felt when you saw the empty bench?"

"I was fucking terrified,” Thor says, quickly. "The- the worst flashed through my mind. I thought he might be hurt, or- or dead."

_Oh, puhleeze. Holy melodrama, batman._ Loki is about to point that out when the therapist heads off in a different direction:

"Thor, do you trust your brother?"

Loki fully expects Thor to do the right thing by him. They’re brothers. It’s what they do.

"I- I want to, more than anything,” Thor confesses instead, sounding – completely unfairly - like the words are being ripped out of him, “but- sometimes I just can't." Oh, right, like _he’s_ the poor fucking wronged one.

Loki hisses angrily, only to get shushed yet again. Once more and he’s going to be out the door like a fucking shot and they can both go fuck themselves.

"Can you tell me why you feel you can't trust him," the therapist asks his brother, oblivious to how close they both are to certain death.

"He hurts himself,” Thor starts in. “On purpose. I know he's supposedly working on that," - _oh, and fuck you very much for that one, brother_ \- "but I- I just don't feel like he's done with it. Not completely."

"Let's give Loki credit for working on the things he tells us he's working on," the therapist corrects, but by now Loki is far too furious to give even one single, solitary shit.

Not even a half-shit.

"He tells me he's working on it," Thor parrots back, obediently, "but I don't feel comfortable that he's there yet."

~

When it’s finally his turn to comment, all Loki can do is _wound_. He repeats the salient points of Thor’s argument in a harsh, angry monotone - "Thor is feeling sorry for himself because, when he came out of the building and I wasn't precisely where he left me, he overreacted. Except he thinks it's not overreacting." – and then delivers the coup de grace, beautifully: "Because I still want to hurt myself. He's right, there, you know, for the record and all."

The look on Thor’s face is so, so fucking perfect. _Take that, asshole._

It’s not just the good deeds that don’t go unpunished, of course, but Loki is well beyond caring. They can lock his ass back up for all he doesn’t fucking care. Seriously.

"You want to hurt yourself," the therapist repeats.

Loki shrugs. "Why wouldn't I?"

Unlike Thor, the therapist says the right thing: "Well, I can think of a number of reasons. I'm guessing your brother can as well.” _Riiiiight._ “But right now I'm more interested in what _you're_ thinking, Loki. Why do you think it's only natural for us to believe you deserve to be hurt?" Except that, out of anyone but Thor, the words have no meaning. Because who gives a shit what some pompous dick with a wall full of diplomas thinks?

Nothing about it is fair.

He rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. "I'm a monster,” he grates, no longer entirely sure who he’s hating, even. “A hopelessly broken monster. Do you have any idea some of the things I've done? Do you?" He’s starting to actually lose control now, to lose track of exactly why making this point is so important. Which should probably be scaring him; it isn’t. "I've tried to kill myself. I've dealt drugs. I'm an addict and a felon. I cut myself just to see the blood, to feel the pain, to give this horrible, twisted carcass what it deserves,” he says, the words deliciously bitter in his own mouth.

"I've sold my flesh and my soul, sometimes to the lowest bidder," he goes on, after a brief pause. "I'm crazy. And dangerous. An unemployable burden to society... and now I'm fucking my brother, and destroying his life in the bargain." He heaves a big breath. "And you wonder why I deserve to hurt? You are as stupid and misguided as this idiot here," he rants, gesturing towards his brother. "There, it's all out in the open," he finishes. _Fuck (comma) You_. "Feel better? Because I sure as fuck don't!"

He doesn’t, either. Not even a little.

Not as the therapist asks the usual _do we need to find a padded room for you?_ questions.

Not as he waits, seething, in the lobby for his brother to take him home.

Not as they eat dinner, once he’s managed to calm down some _on the outside_.

Not even when dinner turns into foreplay turns into sex right there in the middle of the living room.

It’s okay, though. He’s had a _lot_ of practice at this game; he can fake it.

Can.

Can, and does.


End file.
